“He is once again the champion of champions” – L’Express

I remember from the year 1956. Why has it stayed in my memory? Perhaps because of the polar cold of February, the most glacial month of the 20th century, the snow piling up in the streets of Paris, the Porte de Champerret having gone silent, the small electric radiator plugged in the living room which gave off a metallic smell. A whole month of negative temperatures, nighttime drops to minus 15°C, the Seine frozen, the trees in the small garden of the building white with frost, the snowdrifts on either side of Rue Jean-Moréas. The neighbor’s 4CV that drove us to school in the morning wouldn’t start […].

The Melbourne Summer Games are being held for the first time in the Southern Hemisphere, first in the cold and rain and then, on the day of the marathon, under a blazing sun. I find this reversal of the seasons extraordinary, which I do not understand at all. I hear the name Mimoun for the first time. He has won the main event of the Greek Olympics, the one that closes the Games, the marathon. […].

The times were dark. Wars followed crises. In March, the National Assembly voted special powers to Guy Mollet’s government to manage the situation in Algeria. […] At the end of October, the Budapest uprising also began, quickly crushed in blood by Soviet tanks, leaving thousands dead and hundreds of thousands exiled. A demonstration against the Communist Party in Paris left several injured and three dead. That was not all. A few days earlier, following the nationalization of the Suez Canal by Nasser in July, an agreement between France, Great Britain and Israel had been reached. The Suez “affair” broke out and despite the military defeat of the Egyptians, the allies were forced to retreat under pressure from the United States and the USSR. The property of French and English nationals in Egypt was confiscated, and the Jews were expelled. It was therefore in a tense international context that the Melbourne Games took place, from November 22 to December 8, 1956.

Mimoun is the Poulidor of Zatopek

And despite the geographical distance, despite the IOC president’s admonition that “the Games are a competition between individuals and not between nations”, some countries – Spain, the Netherlands and Switzerland – decided to boycott the event in order to protest against the USSR’s intervention in Hungary. Others – Egypt, Iraq and Lebanon – abstained in the same way in order to denounce Israel’s participation. The same for China, which refused to rub shoulders with Taiwan. Nevertheless, 67 countries joined Melbourne.

Alain Mimoun is already very well-known, not only in France where he was elected “French champion of champions” by The Team, but in the world. Silver medal in the 10,000 metres at the London Games, then again in the 10,000 and 5,000 metres in Helsinki. Each time, he was beaten by the Czechoslovak Emil Zatopek, nicknamed the “human locomotive”. Mimoun is Zatopek’s Poulidor. They met in 1948 (or, according to other sources, the previous year in Prague) and became friends from the start. “We loved each other like two lovers”, confides Mimoun, disarmingly. Each of their stories perfectly embodies that of their country, with its dramas and its flags. The romantic character is Emil, with his disjointed style, grimacing face, astonishing kindness, extraordinary performances, and destiny shaken by political history. Jean Echenoz dedicated a novel to him, I would say “perfect” if that word were not absurd. Run says it all, better than a biography, a tender, incisive, ironic, tragic book. It tells the story of the man, but also of the era. So read it if you want to know who Emil Zatopek was.

Alain Mimoun has a passionate admiration for his friend, he sees him as a hero, we have the impression that next to him, he feels a little rough. […] And since the whole world shares its admiration, since Zatopek has won three gold medals in previous Games (in the 5,000 and 10,000 metres and in the marathon), since with him the best timekeepers are dropping like flies (18 world records broken), since he seems invincible, there are doubts about Mimoun’s performance. Cautiously, he replies: “I’m not promising anything. I’ll just do my best to go all the way.” He holds the best French performances in all long-distance disciplines, including the hour and 20 kilometres, but he is not a marathon specialist. […]

“You don’t congratulate me, Emil?”

“Lower your head, you’ll look like a runner!”, they used to say in my youth. Or “Go ahead, Mimoun!” to someone who was running after his hat blown away by the wind. Lower your head to raise it better. That’s what Mimoun is going to do. […] The day before the marathon scheduled for December 1, he learned of the birth of his daughter. The race began at 3:13 p.m. and he wore bib number 13. It was scorching hot, Mimoun wore his wife’s handkerchief tied at the four corners on his head. He ran, he ran. He prayed as he ran. He ran, he ran with his economical stride. His main opponent, Zatopek, who had just had a hernia operation, gave up on the 5,000 and 10,000, but he was seriously weakened. “Beware of the Russians, beware of the Russians,” he advised his friend: Kuts had just shattered his own world record in the 10,000 meters.

The reports show Alain Mimoun, with his little shorts, his black jersey, his handkerchief on his head, his moustache: images from another era. He is 35 years old, already old for this level of competition. Until the end of his life, he will recount his anthology race kilometre by kilometre. The moment when he drops his competitors one after the other, the fatigue, the dehydration (“but I didn’t want to stop to drink”), the encouragement of the Australian crowd (“you’re good, you’re good”), the race in the lead, alone, without looking back, the handkerchief he tears off, the insults he heaps on himself to force himself to continue, to speed up the pace when he sees the flagpole of the Olympic stadium three kilometers away. The cheers of the 120,000 people in the stadium, and the finish, exhausted. The most moving images capture the moment when he watches for Emil. The latter is not second, nor third, nor fourth – but where has Emil gone? – nor fifth. But sixth, on the verge of fainting. “You’re not congratulating me, Emil?”, Mimoun asks his friend, who is unaware of his victory. Then the great Zatopek takes off his legendary cap and stands to attention: “Alain, I’m happy for you.” What class!

Mimoun, himself, is carried in triumph by his supporters as he gets off the plane. Something in him has been accomplished. He is once again elected champion of champions.

Taken from I remember… Perec’s stride (and other sporting madeleines)directed by Benoît Heimermann. Seuil, 226 p., €19.90.